7. Isabella
“Isabella! You have a delivery!” My mom’s voice woke me from my slumber the next morning, and I groaned into my pillowcase. I had never looked forward to Mondays before, but considering now they were one of my only two days off from work, I loved them.
Itried to trick my brain into being lulled back to sleep, but it didn’t work. Another oddity that came from being in your thirties was the inability to sleep in. I slipped on a sweatshirt and padded out to meet my mother in the kitchen. My parents’ home was one of my favorite places on earth, even if they’d converted my bedroom to a craft room as soon as I’d left.
Iwas lucky enough to call their five-story townhome in GramercyPark my childhood home. I’d held many sleepovers here, snuck booze out of their basement cellar, and even stained the carpet permanently in my bedroom from a straightener I’d accidentally left on all day. I made my way down from the third floor to meet my mother in the kitchen.
GloriaEsposito was a powerhouse of a woman packed in a tiny body. Her thick, Italian accent sometimes muddied my words, and her crisp gray hair sat in a perfect bob. My unruly morning curls looked like a lion’s mane next to my mother’s hair. I eyed the small box on the counter, forgetting what I’d ordered.
Anotherretinol cream? Perhaps a cooling eye mask to tame my new undereye circles? I slid a knife under the flap and grinned at what lay shrink-wrapped inside. The invitations for Max’s wine-tasting event were waiting for me. I squealed as I picked them up and turned them over in my hands, reading every word on the cardstock for the millionth time.
Ihad gone all-out with the wine and chocolate theme, deciding on TheEnchantedVineyard: AnOdyssey of Wine Chocolate as the overall theme of the event. The invitations were a beautiful creamy chocolate color with metallic white accents. I was planning on having a courier hand-deliver the invitations to the club’s VIP members, each with a small box of chocolates.
Iwas meeting with the chocolatier today to set the menu of treats so Max could pair them each with a glass of wine. I hoped he could flex his wine muscles with this event and that it could give him some more confidence that he would pass his exam. I felt this weird hesitation from Max when it came to his certification. Almost like he was embarrassed by his goal, that it wasn’t enough. I hoped this event would show him how cool his job could be.
“Oh, those are beautiful, dear. Are those for the club?” my mom asked over my shoulder, and she peered into the box. Given my mom’s profession and my parents’ overall progressive beliefs, Gloria knew all about the happenings at the PrismSociety. It was an unspoken family rule that we didn’t share too many details of what went on, and our parents could absolutely under no circumstances ever visit, but besides that, there was zero judgment.
“Yeah, for Max’s wine-tasting event; he asked me to help plan it.” I put the invitations back in the box, wanting to keep them clean.
“You were always so good at events, Izzy, I bet it’s going to be incredible.” My parents were two of the most supportive people I’d ever met. Heck, they didn’t hesitate when their thirty-something-year-old daughter came crawling back home after declaring she would “never live in the city, ever again.” Even if they had turned my old room into a guest room.
Therewere no limits to what my parents would do for both me and Dom, but it was up to us to actually try. It was up to us to set our mind on something and go forth with it confidently. Dominic had never had a problem with that part, but me, now that was another story. I gladly took the cappuccino my mother made and headed back upstairs to look a bit more presentable for the chocolatier.
Aftera chocolate marathon, I had my picks. Merlot-soaked cherry chocolates topped the list for their punchy flavor, a nod to the robust reds we’d be serving. The lemon-infused white chocolates were a hit too, light and zesty, just right for the lighter wines. I picked them because they either made my taste buds sing or because they were too interesting to pass up.
Iended up choosing this chocolatier because it was a spot I’d walked by a thousand times on my way to prep school, always stopping to drool over the chocolates being drizzled and dipped right behind the windowpane. Their craft had always fascinated me, and now, it was a part of our event.
Ridinga sugar high, I couldn’t wait to loop Max in. I rummaged through my onboarding papers to find his number, thinking he’d get a kick out of my chocolate-fueled enthusiasm. A quick text later, I leaned back, satisfied with the day’s work and eager for what was next.
Isabella: Wanna taste some goodies I picked out for your event?
Afew minutes later, my phone buzzed in my hand.
Max: Not that I don’t want to immediately say ‘yes’ to whoever this is, I want to confirm first. This is Isabella, right?
Isabella: Oh my god, yes, it’s Izzy.
Max: Just making sure. It’s not every day I get texts from strangers asking me to taste their goodies.
Isabella: IDIDNOT say ‘my goodies’. I said SOME goodies. As in chocolates. I just picked out the menu for your event. I figured you might want some time to think about the wines you’ll want to pair with them.
Max: The menu? Already? Okay, yeah, I’ll be there soon. You’re still at your family’s place in GramercyPark, right?
Aslight flutter of nervousness tickled my stomach at his question. Of course, he’d been to the house before. He and Dom were close after all.
Isabella: Yeah, that’s the one. Can’t wait to show you what I’ve got.
Hisconfirmation set a flurry of preparations in motion on my end. AsI laid out the chocolates and napkins, a mix of anticipation and second thoughts danced in my head. The idea to pre-select the chocolates seemed good in theory, and I even had a list of potential wine pairings as a backup. Still, a thread of anxiety wove through my excitement, leaving me second-guessing my initiative.
Ibusied myself as I waited, setting out the chocolates and little napkins, and anxiously tapped my nails on the countertop. I jumped when the buzz of their doorbell vibrated through the walls.
SeeingCasualMax shouldn’t have made the little flutters in my belly go off, but it did. The way he handsomely existed in jeans and a plain t-shirt was a crime. I tugged open the arched wooden door, smiling at Max through the glass panes.
“Hey,” I said as I stepped aside to let him up the steps.
“Hey,” Max replied, raising his eyebrows quickly.
“Uh, everything’s upstairs,” I said as I turned to lead Max up to the kitchen. There was awkwardness in the air, but I didn’t know why.
“Great,” Max replied from behind me.
“Um, okay, so.” I clapped my hands together in mock cheerfulness and turned to Max. “I don’t know what you want to see first. I have the invitation here.” I placed my hand on the stack of cardstock in front of me. “And the chocolates laid out here.” I pointed to the ornate chocolates lining the edge of the counter.
Maxtook a deep breath and picked up the invitation. I watched silently as he read the words embossed on the front. “Fancy,” he said.
Iheld my breath as his gaze skirted over the chocolates, leaning forward to read the descriptions that sat in front of each. His eyes squinted and his eyebrows furrowed. Something was wrong.
“You hate it, don’t you?” I asked in a whisper.
Maxsighed before answering. “It’s not that I hate it. It’s just . . .” He finally looked up at me. “These are very specific palettes to pair with. I mean, a raspberry and rose filling?”
“Right, okay, well, I also,” I said as I pulled out my notes, “mapped out some potential pairings that you could use with some of them. I’m no sommelier, but Ilove wine with chocolate, so I just thought about what I might like.”
Iturned the list over to Max so he could see what I’d put together. I’d thought of everything. I wanted this event to be a huge success for him. A chance for him to show off his knowledge and take people on a tasting experience. Heck, I couldn’t wait to try the pairings, so the clientele at the club would love them.
“Ornellaia, Masseto . . . Penfolds.” Max read the list of growers of the wines on the list out loud. “These are some of the most well-known growers, Isabella.”
Ididn’t say anything as I tried to think back and process his meaning.
“I specifically told you that’s not what I wanted my events to be about,” Max continued. “These growers get a shit ton of press and orders every single day. They aren’t hurting. The purpose of these events with our rich-ass members is to show them something new. To give a smaller establishment a chance to get put on the map.”
“If you had looped me in first,” he continued, his voice sounding tired, “I could’ve given input on some of these choices. On how I wanted this to be . . . presented.”
Maxlet out a long, weary breath, his eyes still locked on the list of renowned wine labels before him. The room seemed to hold its breath with him, the thick tension palpable between the ornate chocolates and the gleaming invitations that lay untouched on the counter.
Ifelt a sudden tightness in my chest, my own excitement over the preparations melting away into a pool of anxiety. I’d been so wrapped up in wanting to impress that I had missed the heart of what he was trying to do.
“I . . . I’m sorry, Max. I thought?—”
Maxcut me off gently, but there was a sharpness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “You thought you were helping, I know. But this isn’t just about putting on a successful event or pairing the perfect wine with chocolate.”
Thesilence that followed was broken only by the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock. My eyes traced the lines of concern etched into Max’s face, realizing for the first time how deeply his passion ran for not just wine but for the stories behind them—the unknown vintners, the hidden gems of vineyards that so rarely found their way to the spotlight.
“This is about advocacy, Izzy,” Max said softly, his voice a blend of frustration and earnestness. “It’s about using our platform to lift up those who don’t have the means to do it themselves. It’s about discovery, about connection. Not just the wine but the hands that toiled to make it. The small businesses, the families. That’s where my passion lies. That’s the direction I want to take.”
Ifelt a flush of shame wash over me. All my attempts at perfection, at creating the “ultimate event,” now seemed superficial in contrast to Max’s genuine ambition.
Iswallowed hard, my heart pounding with a mixture of regret and a new understanding. “I . . . I missed the mark. I get it. You shared that with me, and I didn’t realize that?—”
“DoI want more?” Max finished for me, his gaze dropping away from mine. “Yeah, most people don’t. They see the sommelier title and they think it’s all about sniffing, swirling, and sipping the most expensive bottles I can get my hands on.”
Itook a step closer, my voice a quiet whisper now. “Tell me, then. Teach me, Max. I want to understand. I want to help make this right.”
Fora moment, we just stood there, the air between us thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts and realizations. Then, slowly, Max’s expression softened, and something like forgiveness flickered in his eyes.
Max’senthusiasm was palpable as he leaned closer, his excitement breaking through in a smile. “We start with the wine,” he explained, his tone turning earnest. “There’s this vineyard I’ve had in mind for a while now, LindenHollow. I’ve followed their journey for years, admired their dedication to sustainable practices and the unique way they craft their wines. I think showcasing their products at our event could really highlight what they’re about.”
Genuinepassion sparkled in his eyes as he spoke about the vineyard. It was clear this was more than a choice of convenience. Max saw a kinship in their mission, a shared goal that went beyond wine and chocolates. “I was thinking,” he continued, his gaze meeting mine, “are you up for a road trip there? It could be a great opportunity to really understand their philosophy, pick out the perfect pairings for the chocolates you’ve selected.”
Headingto the vineyard with Max sounded like a blast. I was all-in for getting a firsthand look at how they made their wine, especially since we’d be matching it up with some delicious chocolates. I got the sense we were teaming up for something bigger than wine or chocolate—it was about shining a light on a place that was doing cool stuff with their grapes. “Count me in,” I said, thrilled Max was bringing me into this part of the project. I was all geared up to dive into the vineyard scene, eager to soak in the sprawling fields and the stories they harbored.